chapter 23

D own into the darkened depths of my mind I would take her. She had seen the worst of her almost lover.

Coward.

Killer.

All my doing. All my failures.

Not one word had been spoken since she had taken my hand. With vacant eyes, she stared into the distance ahead, disregarding the present as we floated along one of the many tunnels of my underground lake.

Never in dreams nor imaginations was this how I would bring my Angel home.

As I tied the boat off to the dock and led her from it, she was still lost to another universe, unfazed by the wonder of my domain. Not even my forest drew her attention as we neared our home.

‘How could she be in awe when a monster leads her?' the Ghost reminds.

My mind forgets it is I who put her in this trance. This creature's nature had affected another in such a detestable way, not even I could see beyond it.

Thus was life when kindness was bestowed upon me. And yet, I would continue to delight in her hell as always until she ended me.

The disarray and shame of these past four days laid about my parlor in the form of shattered bottles and torn stories. It was only hope that her mind was elsewhere as I continued to hold her hand, guiding her quickly through it.

"You may rest here," I said, opening a doorway to my barren room. Time, nor fate, had been charitable. It was intended that this room be renovated for her arrival. The cruelty of life always had other plans.

Still, she does not run.

Vacant eyes scanned my quarters slowly.

I forced myself to release her hand and visit the dresser. "For comfort," I said, and set down a nightshirt on the bed.

Absent-mindedly, she met me at the bedside and stared at the pile of linen on the mattress. "You'll take me back in the morning?" she asked, her voice distant and tired.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed the despair in my throat at her request.

"Right?" she asked, glancing up at me.

‘She does not have to leave,' the Ghost suggested. ‘There is a second room. She could stay there until she changed her mind.'

Tempting as his proposal may have been, the growing concern in her eyes at my silence suggested fear would not turn to love.

Against my will, I nodded. "If that is what you wish."

Slight relief filled her eyes and they dropped back to the linen, where she fiddled with it again.

Poisoned were these hands that longed to hold her. Just once more. To recreate a moment that seemed fiction now. Yet I refrained. These hands had done enough damage.

The silence between us was just as unbearable as her fear. To find reprieve from this constant pain, misery carried me towards the door, to leave her in peace.

At least with her nearness, the music of my mind played again.

As I reached the threshold of the door, I hesitated departure. "I regret you have witnessed…" I started.

"How many people have you killed?"

She continued fiddling with the fabrics on the bed. Her question stirred. Not for shame, but curiosity.

"Thirty-one," I replied, matter of fact. "Perhaps more."

It was not something kept in my mind. Nor did it elicit shame. When it was done, more than not, would never be thought of again.

"I see," she said. brown eyes hesitated to find mine as she faced me. "Do you feel guilty for it?"

"No. I feel no guilt for them ." Restless were the fingers at my sides as my eyes clung to hers, analyzing her reaction. Her eyes fell away as if it were not what she had hoped to hear.

‘Say something!' the Ghost urged .

"If it would ease your mind to know, when it were not for hire by the King, the lives ended by my lasso, were all very deserving of it. No tears were shed nor did any mourn their death. Nor did I seek them out," I said.

Every refined word from my mouth sounded like a snake trying to convince a mouse he was not going to eat it.

My body inclined, half in anticipation, half in dread, for words that would not come. She looked up, a change in her stare. Had my confession been wrong, that she would look upon me with confusion?

She swallowed the words of something which rolled within her throat. Her gaze roamed to the vanity near the foot of my bed.

"My first night here, I was so terrified. Actually, I don't think that word even comes close to what I was feeling," she said with a small ironic chuckle. She stepped closer to the vanity, slowly glancing at the masks which hung on the wall around the shattered mirror. "I didn't know where I was. It wasn't my world. Someone helped me, at least I thought he did. Until he tried to rape me in an alley."

My mood veered sharply to anger and my blood turned acidic. I was near her within a second, restraining what little composure I had left. "Some thing dared to violate you?" I said through gnashed teeth.

"Tried."

Her careful hand reached out to find a decorative mask made from a moment of sheer vanity. Bone white with black cracking and small horns. One never intended to be worn after its fabrication, yet still too beautiful to toss out. "I like this one," she said. A faint smile on her mouth. "You should wear it sometime. Really add to that ghost thing." Her voice strained and cracked.

Ache intertwined with the rage ruminating within my chest at her attempt to mask her pain.

"I didn't even remember getting the knife from my pocket or driving it into his neck. The blood gurgled when he blew into his whistle for help. I watched him die then ran away." The words came casually, as if someone else told the story, like Melody Reilly hadn't personally experienced it. Her deepest, darkest secret—at least one of them—was finally out. Yet, her demeanor was unusually calm for such a recounting.

"I assume it normal to feel guilt for taking a life."

"I don't," she said quickly. Subsided was my rage when curiosity overshadowed. My brows lifted, not that she could see, but her admission had taken me by surprise. "That's what's got me so fucked up, Erique. I feel bad for not feeling bad. Not because I killed someone or watched you kill Joseph, but because I didn't care afterwards."

A glazed look of horror and despair spread over her face at her admission and her eyes ripped away back to my wall of illusions.

‘Go to her, what is it you wait for?' the Ghost asked .

"Where did you find this?" she asked, pulling down a black and silver mask from the wall. The tremble in her voice left me further unsure of our situation.

"I was curious about you," I said. "Covered in blood, wearing a face like mine."

A moment of clarity changed her face. A wide glistening stare turned up to mine. "You were in the bar too? The reason the men stopped pounding?"

I nodded.

"Did you follow me to the hotel then?" she asked.

"I've known Antoinette and Louis for many years."

"Why did you…"

"I do not know."

Her eyes fell back to the mask she never thought she'd see again. "I told you I was at a show with my mom and sister," she said.

"Yes."

"We were dressing up. I'd made one of these for each of us. I was the only one who wore one though. It was special to the show. I like to do that. Dress up and be someone else for a while," she said, running her fingers over its surface, falling into a memory. "There's some things you can't escape. Even when you're… away." Tears bit at the corners of her eyes. Thumbs wanted desperately to wipe them away for her as they slipped out. She cleared her throat and hung her mask back up in its place, suppressing another secret. "I need to clean up."

The lack of outburst. Tears. Emotions I had seen in many others over years of observation, evaded her and unsettled even me.

"Yes. Of course," I said, staring a moment too long, contemplating if she would allow the taking of her hand. "This way."

A silent walk through a dim hallway made this creature light, knowing the heaviness of what would come weighed.

I opened the door to a dark room and flipped on the lights. Fresh paint of the dark green that decorated the walls still filled the air. The first of many planned changes.

Feeling eyes roamed around her bathroom, then landed on the latest victim of my self-loathing. A mirror which hung above the basin.

"I will replace it for you," I said.

I sat her in a chair next to the new claw foot bathtub, which had only been delivered recently, and turned on the faucet. Water fell into the porcelain, splashing around. This was something she wanted long ago. Hope would have it be enough to heal.

"This should only take a few minutes," I said. It was probably apparent that I would need a wash as well, that would wait until after she had gone to bed.

Steam rose from the tub as I left her staring into the rising water.

The door closed behind me, and I glared at my hand on the knob. She would leave after this. The light within the darkness would be gone. She thought herself a monster, same as this diseased man and would need away from him.

My one wish for her in all this world was that she lived in beauty and wonder. This precious tormented soul ached with guilt she did not deserve. To feel guilt for not feeling it. What torture that must be.

Strained shoulders hit the wall, and I slid to the ground weakened by my own weight.

When she was rested, what then? What we have built together, would that cease? What I and others have done, would every glance at this monster be a constant reminder of pain?

Fingers ripped through my hair as I gritted teeth, howling in silence.

I am made to destroy.

The sound of heavy sobs replaced running water. It pulled me from loathing and closer to the door. The purest soul in existence cried on the other side.

She believed herself a monster. The same as I.

A coward I was once when it mattered. Not this time. She would know sunlight again.

Thought dissipated as I sprung to my feet and opened the door without hesitation. As the steam rolled over me, I marched to the porcelain basin that should have eased and slid in behind her.

The water stung my flesh, continuing the retribution earned. Soaked arms wrapped around my broken Angel, who latched on immediately, clinging as if she were dangling over the edge of a cliff into oblivion and I was her only salvation.

"You are good. You are so good, baby," I said. A look of surprise I have not seen before touched her pale face as she looked up. I ran a hand through her natural hair and kissed her temple. "Believe me, my heart, please."

"I shouldn't be ok with this. Any of this," she cried.

Desperate hands grabbed her cherubic face once more. "Hear me," I said, staring as far into her eyes as I could probe. "The world is filled with monsters. Ghouls. Men who would see it crumble for the excitement of it. I should know. You. You are nothing but beauty. Your soul is the sweetest. You are no spring fawn, Melody Reilly. Some men are unredeemable, you know this. Be free of these chains you have shackled yourself with."

Tears came again as she fell into my chest.

Hades would lose in battle to pry me away. Even as my limbs numbed, I would refuse to undo myself.

Demons had dragged her to hell the moment she arrived in this godforsaken place and had since been attempting to claw her way out. Only to find the devil himself delighting to be her last refuge.